


Mud On The Seats

by schneestern



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-15
Updated: 2007-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: The Impala gets stuck in the mud. Dean is being an ass. Sam is pissed off. Porn ensues.





	Mud On The Seats

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://batoutofkansas.livejournal.com/profile)[batoutofkansas](http://batoutofkansas.livejournal.com/). Prompt: _37\. Do ya know what it's like,/All revved up with no place to go?_.

“Perfect, just perfect.” Sam grunts and presses his shoulder harder into the back end of the Impala, trying not to scratch the paint job. But his feet keep slipping in the mud and he's already fallen down hard once, no way is he gonna let that happen again.

“Push, Sammy, dammit!” Dean yells into the pouring rain from the open driver's window, revving the Impala's engine once again, disgusting fumes making Sam's eyes water. And it's not like he's not fucking pushing with all he's got. His shoulder's aching where he's ramming it against the Impala but the damn car isn't moving even a little bit and Dean yelling and constantly revving the engine only makes matters worse.

How they even ended up on this god forsaken road in the middle of nowhere, up to the wheels in brown, watery mud, Sam has no idea. What he does know though, is that Dean's gonna blame it on him again, somehow. At this point Sam's more than willing to pick a fight. He's soaked through; the mud in his shoes makes a disgusting slurping sound every time he moves. He's cold and his whole body's hurting, protesting against the strain. And it's slowly getting dark too, not like that's surprising either.

“Are you sleeping or what?” Dean gets more annoying the longer Sam's standing out here in the cold rain. He contemplates strangling Dean, actually thinks about how well his hands would fit around Dean's neck, but instead thinks of a better way to get the pent up anger out.

He abandons his useless task of pushing at the Impala and walks around to the passenger side. He has trouble getting his feet up now, heavy boots refusing to move and sinking into the mud as deep as the Impala's tires. Somehow he makes it to the door, opening it and then he slips into the seat, pulling the door closed against the heavy rainfall. Dean's shocked silence is so satisfying Sam can't help but take his boots off too, mud splashing down into the truck bed.

And Dean, he actually shrieks - fucking shrieks like a little girl - and then he's all over Sam and not in the good way either. He's pushing and shoving at him, trying to simultaneously get Sam off his precious upholstery and getting the passenger side door open wide enough to throw Sam out. Not that he has any chance of winning. Sam is bigger, stronger and more pissed off than Dean.

He wrestles Dean to the seat effortlessly, leaving mud and dirt all over the interior of the car, just because he can. Dean's face is a mask of fury and shock and he kicks at Sam so hard he's probably leaving bruises.

In the end Sam wins with sheer determination, pinning Dean down along the front seat of the car, his hands caught in one of Sam's against the door. Rain is blowing in through Dean's open window, splashing on their faces hovering only inches apart from each other, their gazes locking and continuing the fight.

“Get off me, you dirty bitch,” Dean presses out through gritted teeth, words dripping poison.

Sam just smiles at him sweetly, dark, brown mud running down his face in streaks. “I'm not gonna let go of you until you admit we're stuck, you idiot. There's no way in hell are we gonna get out of here if the rain keeps coming down like this.”

“Whatever, Sammy. Now get the fuck off of me.” Dean half-heartedly struggles against Sam's body covering his, but he knows that Sam's right and as much as Sam relishes this moment of triumph, the rain is kinda icy and so he bends forward over Dean's head to close the window. Dean instantly goes still all over and the second the window's closed, he bucks Sam right off his body. Sam should have seen it coming.

A quick struggle ensues, but before Sam even has time to really get into it, Dean has already reversed their positions, holding Sam down with his body, smug smile on his lips.

“Who's the idiot now?” And his voice, god, it's grating on Sam's nerves and he's fed up, no matter how pleasantly Dean's body fits against his, warmth seeping through his jeans, Sam's had it.

“Watch this,” Sam grunts, wrestling his hand free and showing Dean the mud-caked sleeve of his jacket. Then he draws his arm back as fast as he can and snaps it forward, sending a fine spray of dirt all over the dashboard.

Dean's mouth hangs open slightly, face turned towards the dirty radio, like he can clean it off just by looking at it. After a long silence that makes the temperature in the Impala drop considerably, he finally turns his head around to Sam again, green eyes settling on Sam's face. And the piercing look he gives him...Sam actually starts feeling a little bit sorry about what he did.

Then, Dean raises his arm and socks Sam square in the jaw with his fist.

That little bit of pity's gone in an instant.

Sam's hand flies up to his face, rubbing at his throbbing jaw. “What the fuck did you do that for, Dean?”

“You still need to ask? You really need to ask why I hit you in the face after you messed up my precious car? God, Sammy, you're such an idiot sometimes.”

He shakes his head, arms folded in front of his chest as he moves back slightly to better show off his spectacular pout. And Sam wants to be angry at him for being such an ass about the car, instead of agreeing with Sam and letting it be for the night. But as Dean moves back he slowly rubs their crotches together and it seems like they're both hard, high on the rage shooting through their veins and adrenaline after a good fight.

Dean's eyes darken, a predatory look in them, but Sam's not impressed by it. He pulls his other hand free and grabs onto Dean's hips, rubbing up against Dean's hard cock. They both gasp at the sensation. Sam roughly tugs at Dean's jacket, pulling him down again and then hooks a leg over the back of Dean's thighs.

He can feel Dean huff out a breathless laugh against his neck, murmuring, “You're such a girl, Sammy.”

And it shouldn't make Sam as angry as it does, because this is Dean and Dean always says stuff exactly like this to push Sam's buttons. But it's been a long night and ever since they veered off the main road and ventured deeper into this nowhere swamp, Sam's been on edge, because let's face it, it's not easy being stuck with Dean in a car for nearly 24 hours.

“Shut up, Dean. Seriously, or this is gonna be over much faster than you want it to be.”

Dean actually laughs in his face at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Like you can stop anything now, Sammy.” Sam wants to protest, but Dean's hand is tugging at Sam's dirty shirt beneath the jacket, sliding a cool hand underneath it and over skin and Sam hisses at the sensation. He feels Dean's cold fingers ghosting over his belly, tracing lines up his chest, rubbing against his nipples. And when Dean pushes and pulls at his clothes to get them off Sam helps him eagerly.

He can always be angry at Dean later.

When his jacket and shirt land somewhere on the backseat with a wet slap, Sam knows that Dean feels the same way. Nothing short of the promise of sex would make Dean forget about keeping his car clean and sometimes not even that. Judging from the way he rips at the zipper of Sam's jeans though, today is not that day.

Sam groans, hips rising to help Dean with getting the jeans off. His head falls back and he hits it so hard against the door, he curses under his breath. Dean immediately stops, muttering something about “idiot” and “can't even fuck in a car properly”. At that Sam grips Dean's hips tightly and then moves up and turns them, so that he's sitting upright, Dean on his lap. Maybe he also bumps Dean's head on the ceiling of the car in the process, but it's totally by accident. Really.

“Fuck you,” Dean rumbles and without missing a beat crushes their mouths together, tongue pushing into Sam's mouth, fighting for control of the kiss. Dean's hands fist in Sam's hair, pulling his head back hard. He grinds down against Sam's cock with sharp twists of his hips and Sam meets each of his thrusts.

Sam breaks the kiss off first, leaving Dean panting and moving in his lap. He pushes his hands down, opening Dean's jeans quickly. “Move,” he hisses and Dean slips off his lap without complaints, bending awkwardly and shimmying out of his pants and boxers in a truly acrobatic fashion.

When he settles back into Sam's lap they're both panting and at the sensation of their naked cocks touching, they both gasp. They haven't done this for a while, too busy hunting and griping at each other. Dean's piercing green eyes settle on Sam's face and Sam realizes that Dean's thinking exactly the same thing.

Dean licks his lips, eyes never leaving Sam's face and he takes off the rest of his clothes, throwing them to the side. Sam can't help but run his hands over Dean's naked chest, leaving brown traces there. Dean moans in response, pushing their cocks together, precome smearing between them.

“Gotta open yourself up, Dean, my hand's too dirty,” Sam says, breathless voice cracking around the words. Before he's even finished, Dean pushes two of his fingers into Sam's mouth and Sam sucks on them hard, tongue snaking along their length. With a swift motion Dean pulls them out again much too soon, reaches behind himself and shoves them deep into his ass.

He rises slightly off Sam's lap at the feel of it and Sam watches him bite his lip, arm moving in a pace that must probably hurt him. Sam wants to tell him to go slow, but he doesn't say it, keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't want slow right now, but he can't bring himself to tell Dean, knowing that he'd oblige Sam no matter how much he wanted it himself or not. So instead of saying anything, Sam slowly rubs his thumbs over Dean's nipples, making him rock against Sam harder.

“Just a little more, Sammy,” Dean whispers, “Just a little and then...god.” Sam's fingernails graze the skin around Dean's nipples and Sam feels sweat trickle down his back, naked ass sticking to the leather upholstery and he hopes he didn't leave that much dirt on it.

Dean fucks himself open, hips moving in a tantalizing rhythm on Sam's lap; the way his swollen cock slips along Sam's naked stomach, makes Sam ache with need.

“Dean. Dean, please.” Sam finally breaks the silence and he's relieved when Dean nods, because he would have fucked him even if he'd said no and that's a scary thought right there.

Dean moves forward a little until his chest is pressed to Sam's. He reaches for Sam's cock, grips it tightly and then he rises up, knees pressing against Sam's thighs. “Go slow Sammy, or I swear I'm gonna kick you out in the mud.” Sam nods his head, not even registering Dean's words, because the head of his cock is slipping past the ring of muscles of Dean's ass. It's tight, too fucking tight, and Sam isn't sure whether he can last, whether this hurts Dean, but there's no way he can stop now.

He's not quite sure anymore what he's doing, head swimming with hazy lust as his hands slide along Dean's sweat slick sides, touching as much of his skin as he can. Sam keeps mumbling, “Please, please, please,” words pouring from his lips until they get jumbled together, until Dean says, “Fuck it,” and takes Sam all the way in with one long push.

They both say “Shit” at the same time and Dean digs his fingers into Sam's shoulders, his ass clenching around Sam's dick. Sam slides forward on the seat a little, to make this more comfortable for Dean, but the second he moves, his dick slips inside of Dean and hits his prostate, judging from the way Dean practically growls at him.

Without further delay Sam starts moving then, pushing up into Dean as best as he can, holding onto his hips. Dean struggles a bit at first, hissing at the way Sam rocks into him, but then he moves too, meeting Sam on every stroke. It's easy, the way they fall back into a rhythm, and Sam can already feel the orgasm tingling deep inside, holding it at bay with all he's got, because it's too soon, way too soon, and he wants to stretch this moment out for as long as he can.

It seems that Dean has a different plan, though, because he move faster now, fucking himself almost viciously on Sam's cock. His breath comes in short ragged bursts, warm puffs of air hitting Sam's face, making the drying mud there itch. Sam hears the rain against the windshield, the way the seat creaks underneath him and the sounds mingle with the slap of naked skin against naked skin. His own breath is as heavy as Dean's and without even thinking about it he stretches up, catching Dean's mouth with his again, urgently nipping at his bottom lip.

Dean moans into his mouth, licks over Sam's lips and the kiss gets sloppy and wet as Dean slides a hand between their bodies, stroking his cock. With every move his hand bumps against Sam's abs and it's a touch that seems to do more for Sam than everything else.

“Wish I could do that,” he whispers against Dean's lips, “If my hand wasn't so dirty from the mud I'd wrap it around your dick. I'd stroke you off fast and hard, just the way you like it.” He feels Dean doing exactly the same between their bodies, doing what Sam tells him he'd do. His thrusts are already faltering slightly but Sam keeps the rhythm up for them, never stops talking. “My hand would be tight around your dick, almost hurting you, but not quite. I'd twist it on every down stroke, to hear you curse and urge me on. Maybe I'd play with your balls, run my fingers over the skin right behind them.” And he licks his tongue over Dean's lips and tastes salt and sweat there, feels more than he hears Dean curse, “Jesus, Sammy.”

Sam digs his thumbs into Dean's hipbones, when he says, “And then I'd trace my thumb over your slit, gathering the precome leaking there. I'd suck it off, wrap my mouth around my thumb, tasting you there, all ready and...” He trails off because he can feel Dean's frantic movements against his belly and then sticky wetness as Dean comes between their bodies, clenching tight around Sam's cock.

Sam fucks into Dean a few more times and then he's letting go too, watching Dean's face as he spills himself inside his brother, holding on to his hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

It takes a while before his breath goes back to normal, before he realizes Dean is pushing at his chest to get him to move. Carefully he slips out of Dean, soothingly rubbing over his lower back as Dean winces.

Dean moves to the side, settling on the seat, his back against the door. He looks calm and relaxed, naked limbs spread out as far as the crowded front seat allows. His body is covered in Sam's dirty handprints, with small bruises blooming in between. His lips are red and swollen, but his heavy, dark eyes only show contentment as he watches Sam watching him.

“You okay?” Sam asks. He knows Dean hates questions like that, but after they've fucked Dean's always a little softer than usual, easier to reach. Sam knows he's only this way when they're together. He knows because he's seen the way Dean sweet talks girls after sex, so he can leave them behind as soon as he's done with them.

It fills Sam with a strange pride, that he's the only one who gets to see Dean like this. It's special and Sam knows how to appreciate it.

“I'm fine, Sam.” A lazy smile tugs at the corner of Dean's lips, making him seem almost unreal in the twilight of the car's interior. “Shoulda done this much sooner though. And you could have asked. No need for you to direct us out in the middle of fucking nowhere and get us stuck in the mud. Could've done this in a nice motel bed.”

His smile turns into a smug grin and Sam realizes he was right when he thought Dean would manage to blame this on him somehow.

The only difference now is that he doesn't mind anymore. If it gets Sam Dean's hand sliding through his hair easily and a chaste kiss to the shell of his ear, Dean can say whatever he wants. Sam can always be pissed at him later. 


End file.
